


Ill-Adjusted

by swiftishere



Series: MSA One-Shots [4]
Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, not really explicitly romantic enough for the / tag i dont think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swiftishere/pseuds/swiftishere
Summary: After everything, Lewis forgives Arthur and comes back to the group. Arthur isn't so quick to move past things, no matter how hard he tries to.(Written for a prompt by @doodletrashcan on Tumblr/nickkk here.)





	Ill-Adjusted

Arthur jerks upright as the darkness of dreams gives way to the more normal, less threatening darkness of nighttime. He finds himself sitting twisted up in blankets, and carefully shakes his legs out of their trap, leaning back on his elbow with a sigh. 

Yesterday had been, by all accounts, perfectly normal and nice. There hadn't even been a job for him to get scared on – he and his friends had just spent the day hanging out together, relaxing. Lewis made dinner, and it had been delicious, of course, and afterwards they'd watched a movie that wasn't even close to scary. Everything had been... perfectly fine, like it always is these days. 

It's like his brain just _needs _something to go wrong. 

It's the same nightmare every time, more or less. He wakes up somewhere familiar, somewhere... _safe_, and at first he'll be relaxed, going about his daily business – his dreams _set up jumpscares for him_, which is the absolute _dumbest _thing he's ever heard. So of _course _it has to repeat almost every night, and he never gets any smarter about it. Not _once _has he managed to see it coming when a door slams shut in his face and traps him, or something he's holding is suddenly consumed with pink fire, or he turns around and there's _Lewis himself_, an all-too-familiar expression of white-hot fury painted on his skull. Back to hunting him like he'd never stopped. 

He runs every time. He doesn't even know why. It's not like it makes a difference, not when Lewis can teleport wherever he damn well pleases and cut off every escape route with a snap of his fingers, when he's really only letting him run to watch him squirm_ like a predator playing with its food-_

With a frustrated growl, he flops back onto the bed and pulls the covers up completely over him. Maybe the grumble is a little performative, to pretend he's not shaking like a leaf because he can't shake the feeling that _Lewis is out there somewhere, he's in the house and **after him**_. He knows he's being irrational, and yet at the same time he's _absolutely convinced_ he's right. 

There's a soft knock at the door, and despite the fact that Arthur _knows _he closed it when he went to bed, there's no sound of it opening before the temperature in the room rises a few degrees. _Great_. He can't bring himself to do anything besides lie in the dark with his eyes screwed shut, gripping the blanket over his head like it's a lifeline, waiting for the feeling of burning heat as the safety of the blankets are pulled off him and he's wrenched upright and off his feet, as an unnaturally warm fist shoves him back against a wall, crushing him with _so much ease_-

A hand, comfortably warm but not hot, barely brushes against his tense back and he flinches at the feeling, curling up a little more into himself. The hand withdraws itself quickly, and he hears Lewis's voice saying, "sorry- Arthur? Is everything alright?" 

He takes a moment to make sure his voice will be steady before he responds. “Yeah, I’m- ‘m fine.”

He can’t let Lewis know he’s still scared of him. He _can’t_. It would _crush _him, after all the effort he’s put into making himself seem less threatening. And _he doesn’t need to be scared_ – Lewis has made it _more _than clear that he's forgiven him for everything. He's moved past it. Arthur should have done the same thing. 

If only every vision of fire and magic and pain wasn't accompanied by the aching, unwavering certainty that_ this is what he's really after_. That Lewis is only biding his time, waiting for another opportunity to take revenge on him for destroying his life in every sense of the phrase. 

The hand settles on his shoulder again, and Arthur prays that Lewis doesn't notice the suppressed shudder at the gesture. He forces himself to stay still and quiet, tolerating the contact because he knows it's supposed to be comforting. 

"You know," starts Lewis, sounding unusually cautious even for him, "if you're... having nightmares, or anything, I could..." He sighs, and Arthur feels a slight shifting weight on his shoulder that suggests Lewis is kneeling, or maybe sitting in midair. He resigns himself to knowing that he's going to have to stand this whole thing a while longer. 

After a moment, probably gathering his thoughts, Lewis continues. "Vivi and I have been, uh, it's basically like... cooperative dreaming? I'm still not very good at it, but... if your dreams are bothering you, or... I could try and help with that. If you want me to." 

And now he's rubbing small circles into his shoulder, and that and the gentle tone of voice makes Arthur want to _scream _with frustration. He doesn't know how much longer he can take this, forcing himself to fake being fine and comfortable with Lewis. And the worst part is, if the nightmares were about _literally anything else_, he'd _jump _at the chance for Lewis to help. Because this _sucks _– but he can't let Lewis into his dreams. Then he'd know how Arthur really feels, and... he doesn't even want to think about what comes after that. Betrayal, hurt, guilt... he just knows it’d make Lewis feel awful, and he _can’t _do that to him.

He must have been silent for too long, because the hand stops massaging his shoulder and gently runs down the length of his arm before disappearing. Lewis is silent for a moment. Arthur waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s made him mad by not responding. Does he have time to run before Lewis snaps? -but the door’s still closed, _damnit_, he’s really left no escape – the math runs all too easy and quick in his head, he watches a short simulation of himself trying and failing to get the door open before Lewis grabs him-

He hears Lewis sigh. He doesn’t sound mad, mostly just... worried? With the static-like distortions, it can be hard to read him sometimes, even though he learned Lewis’s mannerisms inside and out a long time before the cave. 

“Good night,” Lewis says finally, and then the feeling of warmth vanishes. A moment later, quieter as though from a distance, he adds, “I love you.” 

The familiar response _love you too_ is at the tip of Arthur’s tongue, but he doesn’t say it. Maybe if he stays quiet, Lewis will be fooled into thinking he’s just asleep. 

* * *

He just needs _time_. Time to relax, to get it into his head that Lewis is safe. And he does, over the next few days, make a marked improvement in how often he jumps at small sounds and how carefully he watches Lewis. 

You'd think that once he wasn't afraid of _that _anymore, he'd stop having nightmares. But no, that would be too convenient, wouldn't it? 

Honestly, before this he'd almost forgotten about the original incident in the cave. Or- not forgotten, but he'd stopped constantly replaying it. He'd sifted it to the back of his head while he dealt with his new ghostly companion. 

So of course, once he was less occupied with Lewis, those memories would resurface in full force. 

It's lying in the light of his lamp, having turned the lights on after yet another vivid dream about green smoke and blood and not being able to move, that he revisits Lewis's offer to have him help with the nightmares. He still wouldn't call himself _comfortable _around Lewis, but if it stopped _these _fucking visions, he'd try pretty much anything. He'd like to be able to sleep through the night at least _marginally _more times than right now, at least. 

He doesn't make up his mind so much as he decides to ignore the very large part of him objecting to the idea of letting Lewis anywhere near his dreams. 

* * *

"Comfortable?" 

"Yeah, i'- it's- I'm okay. Thanks." 

Arthur finds himself back in his bed, settling into Lewis's arms. Lewis tucks him against his chest, and it's achingly familiar, and it's _too warm _and despite knowing that he's perfectly safe, he feels tense and nervous. He's not sure he's actually going to be able to sleep. 

But just lying down, the past few weeks of mostly-sleepless nights start to catch up to him, and then he's too tired to think about the ghost or the situation. He can't remember the last time he's been asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes. 

* * *

This is not the correct setting. 

It's a cave, that much is right, but there are no dingy, faintly green walls. There's no smoke, no sense of paralysis. Instead, there's sharp shadows and the reflections of firelight on the walls, and a sense of panic, and...

..._god fucking damnit_. 

Part of him feels conscious through the dream, which is probably a side effect of Lewis being present, and that part watches the scene unfold with barely more than vague frustration. 

There's too much of the cave. There's always too much. The tunnels are longer and branch in ways they never did in real life, and the light comes from nowhere as he dodges through a maze of tunnels, seeing continual glimpses of a familiar specter in fire and formalwear charging him. He can _feel _more than hear Lewis's thoughts, a sense of surprise that turns quickly to dismay. 

Suddenly he feels Lewis combing through the past few weeks in his head – nothing intrusive, just looking at feelings – and Arthur _knows_, with a sinking certainty, what he sees. 

By the time he wakes up, Lewis is gone. There's faint glitters of light hanging in the air leading towards the door, suggesting his path out. Arthur debates in his head for a moment, then sighs and gets up to track him down. 

He finds him in the living room, hovering uncertainly in midair, looking at the ground. He looks up at the sound of footsteps, and lock eyes for a moment, and then Lewis starts to back up, obviously alarmed. 

"Wait," Arthur says, and Lewis turns, curling up as he does so into a half-sitting position in the air and loosely folding his arms across his chest. The expression in his eyes is almost... searching. 

"You know I don't want to scare you," Lewis says finally.

Arthur hopes he doesn't visibly wince, feeling another stab of guilt go through him. "...yeah, I-" 

"So why didn't you_ tell me_?" 

Arthur stops, blinking. "...what?" 

"If I'd known-! I don't want to-" 

"I... know. That's why... wh-why I didn't..." 

"No- _stop_, listen-" Lewis sighs, looking away. "...look, I... I'm sorry. This is... my fault. If I'd known you were... I just wanted things to be... back to normal. I should have realized..." 

"That's not- n-no, you d-didn't... you're right, it sh-should... should be. I- I know I shouldn't b-be afraid of-" 

"_Arthur_." Lewis holds up his hands. "I don't want you to... be afraid of me, but... I get it, okay? I... I know why you are. It's not your fault." 

Arthur leans back in the doorframe, not meeting his eyes. "But... I- I don't _need_ to b-be. That's why, you- you sh-shouldn't have to worry about it-" 

He jumps slightly when Lewis floats towards him, taking his hand. "I'm going to. You know that, right? Just... talk to me. If it bothers you- let me know. Or else I'm going to keep worrying." 

There's a long moment of silence as the two stare into each other's eyes, and then Arthur exhales slowly. "...oh. R-right." 

The corners of Lewis's eyes wrinkle slightly, in either concern or a smile. "Promise?" 

Arthur gives a small smile of his own, squeezing his hand. "Promise." 


End file.
